A simple kiss is the gateway to everything
by captainpezberry
Summary: pezberry week day 2: theme- first kiss.  Rachel recounts the REAL story of her and Santana's first kiss. T for language, I think.


Though she still denies it to this day, I was the one who kissed Santana first. Her ego likes to block out the memory because she can't handle knowing I beat her to something, again, but every now and then I relive the story to see her smile with recognition then abruptly shake her head and mumble the same defense she always does, "In your dreams, Berry."

It was something out of a dream. Not in the sense that it was romantic or fully thought through, but in the sense that things like this only happen in dreams. Or movies. The types of movies that you usually laugh through and no one takes seriously. Maybe that's why she blocks it out, because it wasn't grand and romantic. She will deny this too, but Santana Lopez is a diehard romantic. But the first kiss we shared was anything but romantic. At least in her eyes. In my young, naïve eyes it was perfect.

After the day care known as elementary school and before the ugliness that is high school, there is a breeding ground for hormonal confusion and awkward growth spurts known as middle school. Though my growth spurt fails to appear in a timely manner, or ever, my hormones are not short in supply and just like everyone else walking the halls I am trying to figure out where I belong, who I should ally with, and why all this hair has suddenly appearing….everywhere.

I remember it like it was yesterday. It was the first day of seventh grade science class and she came walking in late. The teacher scolded her and made her take the last available seat, the one right next to me. I had seen her in the hallway but she was always surrounded by girls and guys, fawning over her. She was popular and pretty and she knew it. But if we were to be neighbors, I had to be polite.

"I'm Rachel Berry. We're on page thirteen if you want to follow along? Here, you can look over my notes to see what you missed."

She looked at the paper, the book, and me as if all were covered in a revolting slime. She reached out, pushed the book away, the notes away, and then folded her arms across her chest. "Just let me copy off your tests and don't talk to me."

To say I had made a first impression that was memorable was an over statement. Every day she walked in to class after that she had to remind herself what my name was. Usually by taking a peak of my name off the top of my test paper when she didn't think I was looking. I don't know why, but I let her copy off me. It was cheating, and I knew it, but I felt like we had formed a special bond. A silent friendship almost.

Though she would never acknowledge me in public, or admit it to this day, I helped her pass that class. Grades were important to her, I could tell. She came from a family known for their smarts, their academics. There were pictures of her father, mother, and cousins all over the wall of fame that lined the lunchroom. A pathetic attempt to make smart kids popular. It never worked. Most of the pictures were defaced yearly but that never deterred the administration from putting new students on the wall each and every year after they "graduated" with honors and moved onto high school.

Then one day after strolling in late as usual, she slid an envelope toward me on the lab table we shared. She didn't even make eye contact with me. She folded her arms across her chest and proceeded to nap for the rest of class. But in that envelope was an invitation to her birthday party. I thought maybe she had just had an extra one after handing them out to all her friends but then I turned it over and saw my name scrawled in her hand writing on the front. So she did know my name and she did mean to invite me to her party.

I was nervous. Not because she intimidated me like she had at first, but because I had never been invited to a party. Well there was once, in fourth grade, where this kid had invited everyone in class to a party at a skating rink. He was rich and just wanted a lot of gifts. I ended up with soda all over me and the kids saying I peed myself. But those were kids. We were youngish adults now! It would surely be different.

But when I walked in my nerves jumped full force. There were people there I didn't know and didn't even remember seeing at school. I was a fish out of water. Maybe she had just invited everyone in school to look popular. My hair was pulled back in a stupid braid with a bow that matched my sundress and a gift wrapped in pink and yellow starred paper. I looked like a child. I almost left thinking she wouldn't even notice when she grabbed my wrist, gave me a smile, then took my gift and lead me to the basement where the food was.

All of her friends were there, the popular girls she sat with at lunch, the basketball players she flirted with in the gym, but she spent a lot of her time near me. We didn't talk a lot but she was constantly checking to make sure I was near. We played games, watched her open gifts, and ate cake and the entire time I was by her side.

I thought that maybe I had imagined it until the party started to dwindle and every knock on the door brought a parent coming to retrieve their child. Each time that happened Santana looked at me with sad eyes as if she didn't want me to leave. Maybe I imagined that, too.

Then she finally spoke to me for the first time that night. I hadn't realized it until that moment. She had been speaking all night to everyone else, chatting and laughing, thanking people for gifts, but never had her attention been solely on me until that moment.

"Do you need a ride home?"

She had realized how late it was and that my fathers had not showed up to get me. So she sat with me after I had called them to tell them I was ready, pretending I had dropped the ball on that when clearly I had reminded them to come get me when the party ended at nine. But she never asked about my fathers. She just sat with me on the porch and waited for them to show up.

"Did you have a fun birthday?" I asked her softly, trying to cut through the silence of the night around us, even if it wasn't all that awkward.

She just shrugged. She looked at her nails that had been painted to match her dress, picked at the polish, and then she looked up at offered me a smile "I'm glad you came."

"Thank you for inviting me."

I had a feeling she was about to make up some excuse about how her mother suggested she invite as many people as possible because when I had thanked her I saw a little panic in her eyes, but the excuse never came. The headlights from my fathers' car broke the darkness and I quickly stood up from the porch. She stood too and takes the two steps down onto the sidewalk path that leads to the curb with me then stops. "See you around."

I took a few steps toward my fathers' car before I stopped and turned back. I could see her watching me and saw that even now there was sadness in her eyes at the fact that I had to leave. Maybe she thinks this was our one chance to hang out outside of school. It was, really. We never crossed paths again socially until high school.

I walk back to her, which seems to surprise her, and without warning I lift on my toes to compensate for the three inches she has over me and place a kiss to her cheek. "Happy birthday, Santana."

I think I see her blush, maybe even smile, but I can't be sure. I smile, though. I know she waves at me when I get in the car and even watches me until I drive off out of sight. It was one of the best days of middle school for me. It was the day I became a young woman. A kiss on the cheek was a big deal back then!

She will claim our first kiss was when she drunkenly pinned me against the wall during the party I threw while my dads were out of town and placed a sloppy wet one on me then quickly told me not to tell anyone but I maintain my story at least has an air of innocent romance to it. Besides, a first kiss tainted with tequila is hardly a story a woman wants to tell her children one day!


End file.
